Not Fine
by slowdance
Summary: Little did he know it was going to haunt him for months to come. Post Post Mortem.


Little did he know that it was going to haunt him for months to come.

Post Post Mortem. ...Doesn't it look weird?

A/N: Wasn't supposed to be a Sandle fic, ended up one anyway.

Disclaimer: I do not own CSI or any of its characters.

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That night was the worst shift he had ever had in his entire career with the Las Vegas Crime Lab. No, scratch that. It was the worst night of his life ever. It was supposed to be a great night, one of the best in his career, actually. Presenting _his_ findings in court for the first time ever, dinner with the hot lawyer, getting a chance to actually _drive _the Denali. It was supposed to be a great night, which he never wanted to end. Little did he expect that night to end the way it did. Little did he know that it was going to haunt him for months to come.

He clutched that piece of paper in his hand, holding it so tightly his knuckles were turning white. His hand trembled as he tried to fit his key into the lock. Turning it gingerly, the door popped open. He got in, closed the door, and made no effort to slide the key into the ignition. He read the words on the letter one more time. The words hadn't changed like he hoped it would. He was still being sued for killing a man. It was homicide, and even Dr. Robbins had said so. He placed the offending article in the seat beside him, and took a deep breathe. Before he started the engine, he loosened his tie and unbuttoned the top button of his shirt. It was suffocating.

The ride home was fairly smooth, save for the few times he was honked at because he didn't notice the red light turning green. He put the letter beside the bowl where he normally threw his keys and stared at it for a second before deciding he needed a bath. He moved to his room and stripped down before stepping into the shower. He let the water hit his face. He was exhausted physically and mentally. He swore he would do anything, anything at all to stop this madness. Everybody told him it wasn't his fault, told him that he had done the right thing, told him that he had done the only thing possible in that circumstance. But he couldn't help feeling guilty for taking that man's life. To hear what the mother had to say in court was the hardest, to hear the venomous things she had said, the implications of her words. All he wanted to do was to hide under the table and hope that somehow he would be able to disappear.

He ran his finger through his wet curls as the water sluiced down his shoulders, so hot that it left streaks of red. He honestly had thought his nightmare would be over after the inquest, that he could slowly try to go back to his normal routine. Just when he was feeling a little better, they had to toy with him by dropping another bombshell. As if it wasn't already good enough that he would have nightmares for the rest of his life, he had to stand up in court again and proclaim his innocence against the judge and jury. The people who already seemed to pronounce him guilty before he even had the chance to speak.

He shook his head, finished his bath and stepped out of the shower, changing into fresh clothes. He wanted now more than ever to crawl into bed and sleep. He was so tired, so strained, so exhausted. Instead, he moved into the kitchen in search of food. He wanted to put off sleeping as much as possible. The nightmares were just too much for him to handle by himself. He always saw Demitrius James heading toward him, rock in hand. He always felt the impact of hitting Demitrius. He didn't wanted to wake up in cold sweat, heart beat erratic, like he had been doing for the past few weeks. He opened his fridge and decided he needed a beer. He cracked open a bottle and took a swig before abandoning it for his television. He wasn't sure if he could stomach anything.

He switched it on and it took him a few minutes to realise that he was watching golf. He channel surfed for a bit before turning it off again. There wasn't anything good to watch anyway. He curled up into the couch, dreading going to bed. He thought about this whole fiasco, he thought about how the others would be labelling him a murderer. He thought of his family and what they would think of him. He wondered if his mother would make him quit his job and move back to San Gabriel. He wondered if he would be tagged as the-CSI-who-killed-an-innocent-man for the rest of his life. He wondered if he would be charged guilty, and if so, which state prison would they put him in. How long would his sentence last? What could he do after he had gotten out? He certainly couldn't be a CSI after that.

He blinked a few times as the sharp shrill from his cellphone distracted him from his thoughts. It took him a few moments to locate his cell before flipping it open. Maybe it was the lab, maybe they had something for him to do. He was starting to regret taking the night off.

"Sanders."

"Hey, it's me." The other voice said.

He calmed down a little, she somehow always managed to make him feel better without actually doing anything. "Yes?"

"I was wondering, since shift ended early, if you want me to go over and keep you company?" She sounded a little hesitant, but concerned all the same.

He was truly glad for that offer, he wasn't sure if he'd be able to stand being alone one second longer. "I'd like that, if you didn't mind."

"Great. So open your door already. It's freezing out."

He furrowed his brow at the strange order and opened to door to find her standing there with a bag of chinese takeout.

"Hey." She smiled at him. Only it looked more like a grimace to him. "So, how're you holding up?"

He didn't answer her, choosing to usher her inside instead. He couldn't answer her. She was worried and he knew.

Sara saw his facial expression, he was so vunerable, obviously traumatised by this whole experience. Greg had tried to act normal at work, to make it seem like he wasn't at all fazed by what he had done. The others hadn't noticed, but she had. She had noticed how he wasn't smiling that much anymore, wasn't cracking as many jokes as before. He had gotten the worst of it, and she felt like there was nothing she could do. She caved and dropped her plastic bag of food, stepped forward, and enveloped him in a hug. She felt him tighten his grip on her, and she stroked his hair, not forgetting to tell him, any maybe even herself, that he would be okay, that everything would be fine in the end.

He snaked his arms around her waist and squeezed her tight, feeling tears starting to well up in his eyes. He breathed in her scent and told himself to stop crying. However, his resolve broke, and instead, his tears started streaming down. He was so afraid. So afraid of what would happen. He didn't know if he would be fine, if everything would be okay.

Sara could hear Greg weeping on her shoulder. He honestly didn't deserve it. He had just gotten out into the field, he shouldn't have been forced to go through something like that. She was honestly worried.

He let her go and wiped his tears with the back of his hand roughly, not wanting her to see him cry even though she already did. She took his hand and pulled him towards the couch, setting her things on the coffee table. She didn't let go of his hand, and instead started to draw circles on the back of it idly. Silence ensued, and after awhile she looked up at him, checking to see if he was fine.

"Greg?" He turned, and waited for her to continue. "You're gonna be alright, you know that, right?"

He shrugged and looked down at his feet. He wasn't so sure about that.

"Greg, look at me." She waited, and slowly he turned his head to meet her gaze. He looked about ready to cry again. "You didn't do anything wrong. You know that, and I know that, and we're going to make the jury see that. Okay?"

He didn't nod again. He looked just like the little boy that he was, frightened, confused. She couldn't stand to see him like that anymore and turned to give him another hug. She didn't want this Greg, she wanted her old, happy Greg back. But deep down she knew it wasn't possible, no one would be able to return to normal after experiencing something as horrible as this. She waited for him to look at her, still not letting go of him. He looked up at her with those eyes that made her heart break into tiny pieces everytime she saw them. She leaned in a little and gave him a chaste kiss on the lips. She broke off, her forehead resting against his.

"You, are going to be fine. I'll be here with you all the way. Don't forget that."

This time he nodded. He guessed he would be okay, if she were with him.

**End.**


End file.
